


Where the Heart Is

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Crinkle Dot [10]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Michael knows Ryan doesn’t like his apartment building. Knows he doesn’t like the fact it’s a shitty little place with a shitty little landlord. Knows he really doesn’t like the security – or really the lack thereof – it has to offer its tenants beyond the deadbolt and chain on their front doors.
Relationships: Ryan Haywood/Michael Jones
Series: Crinkle Dot [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/948327
Comments: 24
Kudos: 123





	Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> I was playing around with [this prompt generator](https://prompts.neocities.org/) and got one that felt perfect for these two and this AU in particular and then shenanigans happened. :D?

Michael knows Ryan doesn’t like his apartment building. Knows he doesn’t like the fact it’s a shitty little place with a shitty little landlord. Knows he really doesn’t like the security – or really the lack thereof – it has to offer its tenants beyond the deadbolt and chain on their front doors.

He knows all that, which is why after a steady campaign of harassment and innocent doe eyes proclaiming that’s not what it is, Michael, really, Michael agreed to get a new apartment.

He’s still waiting on the paperwork at his work to go through with the bump in pay to go with it because fuck if he’s going to let someone else pay his way even if Ryan and the others insist it wouldn’t be like that. 

That they’d paid Phil for what he did for them, found a way to make it look all nice and legal and shit and just.

Look. 

Michael’s not an idiot, okay? Could use the money they’re trying to give him to live a better life and all that, but it feels shady to him considering he’s got more invested in the crew and Ryan in particular than Phil ever did.

So, all that money they want to give him goes to the non-profit clinics around the city instead. Split evenly among the little places barely staying afloat who do more for the communities they serve than the cops that like to hassle them from time to time ever have. (Doesn’t amount to all that much in the end, but it’s better than nothing and that’s what matters.)

Jack and Gavin are looking for places he’d agree to move to, and he keeps reminding them he’s got a budget and no funny business. No leaning on some poor bastard to give him a discount or whatever else because he has ties to the crew. 

Other bullshit that has to happen first like getting Ryan to stop being so fucking smug about winning the argument or whatever he thinks this was.

Until then, however, Michael’s got shit to do. 

A wedding back home for starters. One of the million and one cousins he has getting hitched, and Michael expected back for it as a member of the wedding party.

========

It’s weird, being back.

Relatives and other assorted assholes he hasn’t seen from anywhere from a couple of years to when he was in diapers.

He spends the first day back on a nostalgia kick, wandering around the town he grew up in and realizing how small it seems now. All the shine it had in his head from his time there growing up worn off and that special warm glow in his heart about the place fucking right off now that he’s seeing it from a different perspective.

Sure, he’s still got all those fond memories from his childhood kicking about in his head, but looking around now he can see the shittier side of things. Stuff he wouldn’t have noticed as a kid or the teenager he grew up to be. Young twenty-something in his first crappy apartment thinking he had life figured out and no idea how dumb he was then. (Or how much dumber he’d get because look at him now.)

He stops by his old high school and walks the grounds after all the extracurricular activities ended hours before. 

Goes to his old work and wonders how things could have gone differently if he hadn’t taken that job offer that fucked him over, if he’d stayed. (Doesn’t dwell on those thoughts too long because they’re depressing as fuck and miserable as hell to think about compared to his life now.)

Thinks about calling up his old friends but his heart’s not in it. Not when he’ll see most of them at the wedding anyway, and it’s. He doesn't know what he’d say if he did call, because two years is a long time for something like that and they’re all doing their own things now which is how it should be.

The second day back, though. Goddamned nightmare with his mom dragging him around for last-minute errands like picking up his rental tuxedo and other things she wants his input on.

And then there’s the day of the wedding.

Wedding ceremony that goes off without incident that leads to the worst part afterwords with the wedding party. Small-talk up the wazoo and cheap booze and overly expensive chicken dry as a bone he chokes down between the small-talk.

His mom flitting about poking at the assholes trying to one-up her regarding their families and success of their kids and all that bullshit Michael’s never understood. Cousins and people he doesn’t recognize sidling up to him because they’ve heard the horror stories about Los Santos and Jesus Christ, Michael, how can you stand to live there?

Michael shrugs, because really it’s no worse than being back here.

Less murder in the streets and panicked screaming, maybe, but yeah. 

Overall the same.

Assholes of all kinds and most of them out to put you in your place one way or another. Pecking order that gets real huffy about things if you put a toe out of line and something he’d forgotten dealing the clusterfuck of moving to Los Santos and everything that came after.

Kind of funny, actually, how dealing with his family and neighbors and whatnot prepared him for Los Santos.

Real _Karate Kid_ Mr. Miyagi _wax on, wax off_ kind of bullshit.

“You’d be surprised,” he says, thinking about Ryan and that dumbass crew of his. The shit he’s been dragged into because of his own stupidity and terrible life choices. Smiles at the concerned looks it gets him. “It’s not that bad.”

Watches the worst of the lot go back to their cliques and gossip circles probably spreading rumors Michael’s fallen into bed with organized crime or something along those lines. 

Which, ironic really, given the truth.

His mom shoots him a dirty look when one of his aunts says something to her that has to do with Michael being a horrible son. Piece of shit kid who’s probably doing drugs or murdering kittens in his free time, because you’ve heard about people in that city, haven’t you?

He has to look away when she gets that look on her face Michael remembers seeing as a kid. The one where she’s gearing up to tear someone a new one for talking bad about her kids. Doesn’t want to give the game away even though his aunt should know better by now.

Sure, they're awful little bastards, but they’re her awful little bastards and like hell will she let anyone talk shit about them in front of her.

Michael wanders away from the main party at some point. He’s been home for three days now, and it’s. 

He’s starting to realize he can’t call it that anymore.

Feels wrong when he does.

Things have wound down enough it should be safe to head back to his hotel without causing some sort of social faux pas. Everyone outside his mom worth talking to is already gone, and she just tells him to drive safe when he says his goodbyes, look in her eyes like she understands.

He stops to get food on the way, little place he used to go to all the time they don’t have on the west coast and the worst kind of food for you. Greasy and artery-clogging goodness that tastes like heaven and if he ever brings Ryan to meet his family, he knows he has to bring the asshole here to show him what fast food is supposed to taste like.

Speaking of, Ryan picks up on the second ring when Michael calls him, concern in his voice like he thinks Michael’s run into trouble in small-town Jersey. Uncovered a criminal ring being run by the local soccer moms or some bullshit and needs to be rescued like a damsel in distress.

“Michael?”

Michael rolls his eyes, not really sure if it’s at the worry in Ryan’s voice or the way Michael gets this little warm fuzzy feeling at hearing it.

He’s called to check in a few times since he got to Jersey. Make sure the idiot’s looking after his busted ankle he earned himself for a botched parachute jump out of Jack’s Cargobob. Part of a heist or just some dumb stunt for the hell of it and Ryan being an asshole with frail old man bones. (He’s not, really, but goddamn is it fun to rile him up about it.)

“Hey, asshole.” 

They don’t really go in for lovey-dovey pet names, the two of them. More of Michael calling Ryan an idiot or moron or an asshole, because that’s what works for them.

Ryan tends to stick to Michael’s name, but every once in a while he’ll be more of an asshole than usual and ‘yes, dear’ him which doesn’t seem like it should be as infuriating as it is? And yet somehow Ryan just has that special superpower.

There’s a pause, some shuffling noises on Ryan’s end before he says anything else. No gunshots or screaming or police sirens, which means he might actually be listening to sound medical advice and resting instead out having a rootin’ tootin’ good time with the rest of the crew.

“Is something wrong?” Ryan asks. Careful. Measured. Like he thinks Michael’s been kidnapped again, probably the soccer mom criminal ring and is making a phone call under duress, who knows. “Did something happen?”

Michael sighs because no, but also yes, and he’s just.

Getting old.

Appreciating the things he has, the life he’s lived to get where he is and how it all fits together when it has no right to. All kinds of insightful bullshit he didn’t expect to deal with when he booked his flight to Jersey weeks ago.

“You manage to burn the place down yet?”

See, Michael knows Ryan’s supposed to be taking it easy and letting his ankle heal? But he also knows Ryan.

The idiot’s got a key to his place and this restlessness to him. Those plants he pawned off on Michael when he first mentioned heading to Jersey for the wedding. Perfect excuses to out from under the watchful eyes of the others when they’re not being chaotic disasters because they know as well As Michael does how dumb Ryan is about his own well-being.

Valid reason to check in on things while Michael was gone because someone needed to water them even though Michael was only going to be gone for five days at the most, but sure, okay. 

Make himself comfortable, cook something up while he’s there because the man’s predictable as hell.

Ryan huffs, because he’s really not enjoying the implication he doesn’t know his way around the kitchen. (That, and there’s a real possibility Ryan or one of the others will just. Do something and Michael's apartment will be in flames, because that just happens with them.)

“No Michael,” he says, sullen note to it that makes Michael grin. “I haven’t burned your apartment down. Yet.”

It's the ‘yet’ that gets Michael, but he lets it slide because he knows Ryan wants him to take the bait and he’s just asshole enough to leave him hanging.

“Good,” Michael says. “Try to keep it that way.”

Ryan sighs, like Michael’s being unreasonable about not wanting his shitty little apartment to be on fire and can’t believe the big, scary Vagabond is still being bullied like this.

Ryan asks how things are going, so of course Michael has to counter with his own inquiry into Ryan’s day and eventually one of them gives a real answer. Which leads to Michael telling Ryan about his new side-hobby of murdering kittens, or maybe it’s puppies, and Ryan’s quiet snort because no, that’s his shtick as the previously noted big scary Vagabond.

From there it’s just. 

Nice, really, telling Ryan about all the bullshit he’s dealing with and listening to the bullshit Ryan’s had to contend with because the Fakes are a goddamned handful and menaces all around.

Eventually the time difference catches up to Michael. Exhaustion not creeping up on him so much as sucker punching him when he yawns. It’s only a few hours difference, but the last few days have been busy as hell. 

Ryan laughs at him because he’s an asshole, and Michael should remind him he’s the one who falls asleep during movies because he’s an old, old man, but.

Yeah.

“Shut up,” he says instead, which just gets another laugh out of Ryan and this comfortable silence Michael’s learning to appreciate. “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Try to keep from burning the pace down until then.”

Ryan’s still sputtering protests about not being _that_ bad about things when Michael hangs up, dumb smile on his face and that warm fuzzy feeling that’s edged out the homesickness he’s been feeling.

========

“So,” Michel says, suitcase still in hand. “I’d like to say this is quite the surprise, but I’d be lying.”

His smoke detector’s going off, which makes sense given the way his entire apartment smells of smoke, decent cloud of it in the kitchen the fan over the stove and open windows can’t quite keep up with.

Ryan’s swearing and flapping a dish towel uselessly trying to help it dissipate and looking guilty as hell as he turns to face Michael.

“I can explain,” he starts to explain, and then just. 

Doesn’t. 

Caught red-handed, as the expression goes.

Not expecting Michael for a few hours, but Michael had the chance to catch an earlier flight home without any outrageous fees to deal with and jumped at the chance. 

Came home to a screeching fire detector and apartment filled with smoke and Ryan at the center of it, because of course.

“Uh, hey,” Ryan says, shoving the dish towel behind his back like that’s going to do anything to hide what’s going on here, whatever it is. “Michael. Hi.”

Jesus Christ.

Michael sighs, because _Ryan_ , and after a quick check to make sure his kitchen isn’t actually on fire goes to dump his suitcase in his bedroom and wash up a bit. Give Ryan some time to hide the body or whatever evidence he needs to because he’s too tired to deal with it right now.

By the time he comes back out the smoke clouding up his kitchen’s gone, but the smell’s going to linger for a while longer, so thanks for that.

Also, Ryan is staring sadly at a tray on the stove. Blackened bits of...something in it and this slump to his shoulders.

Looks all sad and pathetic.

“What is the one thing I told you not to do?”

Sad panda Ryan aside, Michael came home to a smoke-filled apartment with a dangerous criminal waiting for him instead of a regular apartment with a dangerous criminal waiting for him.

Ryan pokes whatever is in the tray with a spatula and frowns like he doesn’t know the answer. Really has to think about it for a bit before that memory resurfaces as though all the reminders he needs aren’t literally in front of him.

“...burn your apartment down?”

Oh that’s. That’s nice, the way Ryan turns it into a question. Like Michael made any other requests of him while he was out of town because he knows how Ryan feels about the place.

“And what did you do?” Michael asks, feeling like he’s talking to one of his baby cousins however many times removed or however that shit works.

Small words. Simple sentences. Not asking a lot because toddlers and their limited grasp of pretty much everything ever at that point in their lives. Like Ryan with not setting things on fire or exploding them or other highly dangerous (and doubtless illegal) things.

“I made you dinner?” Ryan says and gives Michael this dumb little smile. 

All lopsided and stupid sweet and overall sad because from the evidence before them, he really kind of didn’t.

“And almost burned the place down,” Michael says, walking over to get a better look at the charred remains. Steak by the look of it, because Ryan. “But guess I should have warned you my oven’s broken before I left.”

Not that he expected Ryan to use it to surprise him by cooking dinner, but just an in general sort of thing. It’s been broken for a couple of weeks at this point, his landlord assuring him it’s on the list of things for him to see to he hasn’t gotten around to yet.

Doesn’t seem all that bothered about the way it veers from not working at all to burning hot like the surface of the sun or how that might constitute a hazard of some kind.

“I figured that part out on my own, yeah,” Ryan says, glancing at him.

Touch of wariness to it because Michael's not annoyed or mad at him for the whole possibly burning his apartment down thing, even if was unintentional.

Hard to be angry about it when he was trying to do a good thing, and yes, okay. Michael missed him and his dumb face while he was gone, so there’s that too. 

Figures he ought to thank him for the effort he put into it, the sentiment, so he does. Hooks his fingers into the collar of Ryan’s shirt and pulls him down for a kiss, grinning when the idiot looks surprised about it like Michael's just that much of a bully to him. 

“Thanks for making dinner,” he says, and gives him another kiss when Ryan huffs like he thinks Michael’s giving him shit for his failed attempt. “No, really, moron. Thanks.”

And now he’s embarrassed, blushing and having a hard time meeting Michael’s eyes. Awkward as anything because he’s shit at accepting compliments that don’t involve wholesale mayhem and destruction.

Michael lets him squirm out of it, watches him fuss half-heartedly with the ruined tray of steaks and all that until he settles.

“Take-out?” Michael asks, because he’s not in the mood to bother cooking anything or go out somewhere. 

He’d rather sit on his couch and watch shitty movies with Ryan while they have the time for it with their schedules, and he’s sure Ryan’s not quite up for more cooking adventures at the moment.

“I...yeah,” Ryan sighs. “That sounds good.”

Great, because there is something Michael’s annoyed about, which is the fact Ryan shouldn’t be bumbling around anywhere with that ankle of his.

“Awesome,” Michael says, “now go sit the fuck down before you make your ankle worse than it is.”

And Ryan, because he’s Ryan, gets this look to him like he’s about to tell Michael he’s fine, really. Ankle miraculously healed since Michael saw him last like the idiot thinks he’ll fall for it.

Michael crosses his arms and waits, because Ryan’s stubborn as hell and real dumb sometimes. (Most of the time.)

“Alright, alright, alright,” he grumbles, and hobbles his way to the living room.

Michael would offer to help him, but he knows Ryan would just get all dumb about it again. Insist he can manage and no, no, really. Look at how strong and independent I am, Michael like that’s anywhere close to being the point. (Because idiot.)

Michael rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove clean up before he calls in their take-out order because this is his life now, and for whatever reason he _likes_ it, which.

Yeah.

A sign he’s fucked in the head, but life’s just like that sometimes. Dumps you into some ridiculous situation and lets you fumble your way around until you make something of it, whatever that means you.

For Michael it’s this whole clusterfuck of a life he never could have predicted, because what person in their right mind would? 

And that’s just fine with him because strange as it is, he’s never been happier, even with all the assholes he has to deal with now.

So, yeah.

Michael’s an idiot, but he’s a happy one, and that’s all that matters.


End file.
